What's new? How is the world treating you?

 For a full 24 hours after injection....perhaps a bit more....we had sore arms.  I could not tell if my aches and pains were any worse as I have aches and pains all the time due to rheumatoid arthritis.  My husband said HE had aches and pains. 

I had extreme fatigue accompanied by occasional waves of mild nausea. Before my usual bedtime I felt too tired to stay up so I called it an early night.  I washed my face.  As I was brushing my teeth, I literally thought about putting my head down on the sink.  Intuitively (hahaha) I knew this would not be a good thing to do. I stumbled into bed.

My husband got up multiple times....he said the shot seemed like a diuretic.

For me, I slept like the proverbial log and didn't want to get up, but I felt...ok.  Got up, took care of cats....dressed.....all that and fell asleep at 1 o'clock in the afternoon for about an hour and a half. 

Dinner was simple spaghetti, no garlic and no garlic bread....a salad.  Still had mild nausea.

By 8 or 9 pm I could feel it lifting, I was starting to feel better.  

We will be better prepared for the second round.  I will make sure we have sliced turkey, tortillas, cheese...and also some (rare in these parts) canned soup....for the aftermath.  No cooking.  Take it easy, lay low, sleep if you must.  

We will never know what the "problem" was.

I want a new drug, one that does what it should...

 And so we embarked on yet another adventure in "what can go wrong?"  

Italy has experienced shortages of vaccine for Covid19.  Our little hill town was plodding along, getting the most critical workers vaccinated and then the older population, which is quite large.  

Finally, the opportunity to make an appointment opened up for those born before 1972.  That's us.  People began asking if we had made an appointment yet.  One acquaintance said he already had an appointment, but the only vaccine offered was Astra Zeneca, which he declined.  He had to sign a waiver and now has to wait for the availability of other types.  He is not the only person who refuses the AZ.  If you read up on the vaccines, you will know why.  Another person told us his appointment is in June.  Alright, since I check a town "page" on Facebook nearly every day, I saw the announcement and it included the web address where one could sign up.  Easy peasy.......not.

I gathered up my health care card and my permesso (just in case)...and ventured forth on the internet. All I had to do was enter the 20 digit number on my health card and my codice, which is the Italian equivalent of a Social Security number. It took all of a minute and this is what greeted me:

It says that either the numbers I entered were incorrect OR I am in a group that is not yet eligible for vaccination.  Of course, I checked the numbers and tried again.  Same thing.  And again.  I asked my husband to go to the site and try his information.  Same thing.  It was rejecting us without giving a specific reason why.

Our neighbor suggested we try going to the post office, since there are people making appointments there.  Silly me, I thought that the clerks were the ones doing the appointments.  Instead, we were told to go to the ATM.  I was clinging to the hope that since it was going to scan my card that the outcome would be different than when I entered the numbers manually BUT no. Same result once again.  

Let me also add that coming to the conclusion that we should even have the vaccination was a difficult one.  We both have comorbidities...health conditions that put us at risk of side effects. Frankly, I too, will refuse the Astra Zeneca and I am still terrified about getting these drugs injected into my body. 

I checked the central website for national health care and it states clearly that ANYONE living in Italy is eligible to receive the vaccine.  You do not have to be Italian, you don't even need to be signed up for national health care OR have a permesso.  So, the question remains, what is the problem???

Coming back from the post office, another acquaintance suggested that we go to the pharmacy.  We would go up to the pharmacy the following day.  

The following day, after thinking about it, I suggested that the pharmacy would only use their computer and get the same result.  This morphed into a totally unnecessary argument which crescendoed with my husband saying "I'll just do it myself" and marching out the door.  Toodles!!!

Over an hour later, I was pretty sure the pharmacy didn't work out, as predicted.  So he wound up in a friend's office (this person has helped us out multiple times with bureaucratic nonsense) and said friend made copies of all of our information and got right on his phone.  He was, I am told, on the phone for over half and hour.  We still don't know what the cause of the difficulty is.  Now I am waiting for a text to my phone that is supposed to contain a code.  When (if?) I get this text, I am to call our friend with the code and he will take it from there.  Aspettiamo.  Tick.....tock.  

                                                                  ******************

No code ever came via text.  Late in the evening I got an email from our friend that included a copy of an email he sent to someone and the upshot of it all was that we would probably be vaccinated on Wednesday.  Wednesday???  The day after tomorrow???  Si.

                                                                 ******************

The phone rang this morning, again it was our friend.  He confirmed that tomorrow he will take us to where the vaccines are being given. (It is outside of the town proper and not within walking distance, something ELSE to throw a monkey wrench into the whole endeavor). 

What exactly was the problem?  Chissa?  Who knows??  Another mystery wrapped in an enigma.  I am somewhat terrified, by the way.

                                                                 ********************

It started as a nice, sunny day.  We opened the windows for the cats to enjoy the views and bird shenanigans.  Naturally, by the time we were ready to meet our friend and go for the vaccine, it started to rain.  The wind was rather strong, too, making it feel quite chilly.

Let me add that our young friend went WAY WAY out of his way to help us today.  It wasn't just a matter of a quick ride (in what became a deluge) but in the outer tent where people were waiting to have papers reviewed, there were about 14 or more people already waiting and large puddles were forming on the ground.  

Papers?  What papers?  The papers we didn't have because the computer kept rejecting us for mysterious, unknown reasons.  Normally, this would not be a problem....the fact that they were in Italian was also not a problem.  The problem was we were standing under a tent with the wind whipping through and rain pounding all around while standing in a line with nowhere to sit or lean.  We could not have done ANY of this by ourselves.  

The papers were filled out (name, address, codice, blah blah...info they have in I don't know how many redundancies) and then a list of health questions.  They had to be signed in three places.  They were sloppy, but they were done. 

We were given numbers and ushered inside a fully covered, elaborate tent.  Our temperatures were taken.  We sat and waited, rain noisily hitting the roof and sides and one guy calling out numbers who was impossible to hear over the din.  Truth be told, he wasn't trying too hard to be heard.  Would have been a better idea to give him numbers to hold up so people could SEE who was next, just my two cents.

The papers were reviewed once again, the same information (which was on the papers) asked for again and entered into a computer.   This is when they asked if we had a choice of vaccine.  Hallelujah, because I know there were people who were not given a choice.  We chose Pfizer.  Then they told us when to return for the second dose.

Then we were ushered to another bank of tables where the vaccine was actually being administered.  Our friend was telling a nurse that we were Americans and I didn't speak Italian.  I love our buddy, but with that I had to speak up and say that, indeed, io parlo Italiano.  With that, the nurse/lady asked which arm I preferred and if I was scared (maybe it showed)...I said "Si."  "Perche?"  I told her I worked in hospitals for forty years....she laughed and said she understood.  She prepped my arm and said after the injection to wait in the chairs in the bank ahead of us.  Then she told our friend "Lei ha capito," that I understood.  Another woman gave the shot, I barely felt it and that was that.  I went over to wait.

My husband was done and we all waited for 15 minutes.  When we emerged from the tent, the rain had let up a bit.

Two hours in all and back home now...arm is a tiny bit sore and sono stanca ...I am tired.  Someone needs a major thank you gift, I haven't got the words in any language to tell him how grateful we are for guiding us through that maze.  It's done, finalmente.

I'm living right next door to an angel

 Lest you think all is troublesome here, quite the contrary.  

Our neighbors across the street are absolute gems.

I always admired their house and the lovely flowers they have growing up the front and on the second floor balcony.  I wondered if they would be nice and the answer to my question was a resounding "yes!"  They are absolutely wonderful people.

We started talking because of the street cats outside.  Having a cat of their own, they, along with us, feed the ferals.  (You can visit my other blog, "gattitudeblog.blogspot.com"

Then, after nearly a year of feeding the kitties outside, and inside our covered cortile, we got "nei guai"...in trouble.  Another neighbor down the block, who is not well liked by anyone, had the nerve to call the police about the cats being fed.  (Not only our neighbors across the street but also another woman further down the block feeds them, too)  Yes indeed, nothing like having the police at your door, especially when YOU are the foreigner.  He could have just spoken to us.  The police?

It was right around Christmas too, and we were in the planning stages of getting as many cats neutered/spayed as possible.  Our neighbors came over bearing gifts for Natale and while we chatted they told us not to worry, nobody likes the guy who called the cops anyway.  I said I thought we were singled out because we are stranieri (foreigners) and that is when my friend said "Sono una straniera"...I am a foreigner.  I had no idea, her Italian is perfect.  Turns out she is from Bulgaria but married an Italian man and she has been here for over 16 years. 

We told them our plan for the cats, and she offered to be our driver.  It is a LONG walk to the veterinarian, so this offer was very welcome.  And when she did drive us she told the vet about our run in with the law.  HE then spoke to the mayor....(!!) and when we picked up the cat, he told us that the mayor said to go ahead and feed the cats in the courtyard.  No one could tell us what to do on our own property.  

Throughout the winter and bad weather, she was there to take us to the vet.  

One time, when picking up one of the cats, she asked if she could take a small detour.  Certo!  She drove to where she and her husband lived before, in a more modern type apartment building, but down the road from an ancient church.  The church had been abandoned years ago and groups of teens gather there now, drinking and smoking and leaving garbage.  That won't last much longer, though, because the town is getting ready to rehab the site and make it into a museum/tourist attraction. 

 The road itself was lovely, lined with large trees and overlooking a hill with a view of the mountains to the west.  I misunderstood what she had said, I thought she needed to briefly visit someone she knew.  What she did want to do was pick some herbs!!!  It is common here to see people foraging - I hardly can identify anything...I am from Brooklyn, after all, but there are edible herbs (bay leaf, parsley, rosemary, chives) and vegetables such as onions and asparagus.  There are probably lots more, but I don't have a clue. 

After a year of Covid restrictions, she said she wanted to take me to see a part of this town I had never seen before.  We had the good luck to get a string of lovely days in March with warm temperatures and sunshine.  She took me to the lake!  It is a manmade lake that has been there more than a dozen years or so and it is a bird sanctuary.  

The roads leading to the lake got narrower and in some parts were dirt.  We passed a place where she told me they buy their olive oil in bulk.  You can actually watch them making the oil.  These hills are covered in olive groves all around us so I am not sure what makes this particular place their special favorite.

We got to a spot to park and walked on a bridge over the lake.  Then we moved to another part, up a dirt road and parked again.  We walked up to where there is a small "falls" and my friend pointed out to me the almond trees, the wild asparagus, bay leaves.  The mimosas were blooming bright yellow and there were some violets, too.  

Once back in town (which is just a 5 minute drive although it seems far away) she ran into her house, told me "aspetta!" wait!  and came back shortly with a couple of small frozen packages of wild asparagus she had already prepared.  I  made a pasta casserole using it.  Having had fiddleheads in the past, I would say they tasted like fiddleheads...very earthy and delicious!

She and her husband went to the lake again recently and brought us back some more asparagus...which I washed and trimmed and cut just as she had done, and stored it in my freezer.  I can't wait to use it!  This city girl has never eaten something that just....haha...grows...it sounds so funny to say.

It was a wonderful adventure for me.  I cherish their friendship and can't believe how lucky we were to have such sweet, thoughtful people right across the street!

She's just Donna, Donna next door

 When we first arrived in Italy the only other resident in our building was an old lady upstairs.  She had a little balcony out front, so often, as we would come and go, she would be out there watering her plants and we exchanged greetings.

That winter she suffered a fall somewhere in town and broke a wrist.  

The following spring she fell down the stairs in the courtyard and broke her other wrist.  We started worrying about the next accident.  Naturally, we were concerned, especially since we were the ones who found her lying in the courtyard, in the cold, in the dark....and I attempted to find someone to help as my husband got her up off the floor.

Last year, in the late spring, this same woman moved out of the upstairs apartment and into the small studio that is next door to us downstairs.  We are not sure of all the details, but it seems that the neighbor may be related in some way to the woman who owns the studio apartment.

This studio was previously a cantina, which means it was simply a storage room.  A kitchen and bath were added approximately 15 years ago.  It really is  just one big room with a couple of windows facing north.  The woman who owns it came to our door the second day I was here.  I was without heat, extremely tired, a bit disoriented and also busy trying to arrange for a new boiler to be installed, a new refrigerator, we needed a decent bed, and acclimating my dog to his new surroundings.  

Ding-dong!!  Someone is at the door.  I open it to find a dark haired mature woman who said, "My husband died"...that part I understood...took me a couple of minutes to figure out she wanted to know if I was interested in buying the studio.  It was very strange. She kept showing up and asking...so I looked at the place...it's cute, sort of.  We could use extra storage and it would be nice to have a separate place for my daughter when she visits....but, ultimately, once I was able to pry it out of her,  the asking price was ridiculous. 

So, there it sat for almost two years until the old lady upstairs moved downstairs.  The upstairs is owned by a realty company and is now rented to a working man who comes and goes and generally minds his own business. 

The old lady upstairs was innocuous while she was upstairs, but downstairs she became a bit of a pain.  First of all, she had someone move all of her plants downstairs.  There isn't room in the studio for them all.  We told her, repeatedly, to put as many as she could out front but she refused.  She had them all lined up in the courtyard.  The enclosed, dark and often very cold courtyard.  And there she continued to water them every damned day as if they were still in full sun and getting lots of windblown air. We watched in horror as they inevitably, one by one, began to wilt and die.

I gleaned from various people and my own experience that this woman is hard of hearing but also stubborn and clearly not very bright.  She is someone who makes me wonder how the hell she managed to get through life.  Seems that someone must "look after" her somehow.

Again, we don't know who nor do we know the relation, but someone sends a cleaning lady to her three times a week.  Three times a week the floors are thoroughly cleaned and also the courtyard. Someone brings by bags of groceries.

I feed the feral cats in the courtyard often and caught the old lady trying to kick a cat one day.  My husband caught her in the act just recently.  Once when I was sitting out there, supervising the cats, she toddled out and asked why I wasn't wearing shoes. (I had socks on)  Then she asked why I don't cut my hair.  I got the distinct feeling she disapproved of merely sock covered feet and longer than short hair and frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a damn. 

Then there was the gas.  We kept smelling gas from time to time.  The part time occupants of the fourth apartment smelled it when they were here for Natale.  

I walked through the courtyard one day and felt nauseous from the strong odor.  It was REALLY bad!  So, we called in our neighbor/handyman....it was coming from the studio.  It wasn't a leak, either, she left a burner on!!  For days!!!  Can't she smell???  It wasn't the first time and probably won't be the last, but by this time I had begun to really dislike our next door neighbor. Sort of amazing she didn't manage to kill herself and take the rest of us with her.

Now we come to the piece de resistance.  We have been here two and a half years now.  Only recently, within the last few months, my husband has noticed a leak outside, under our apartment, where the rest of the cantinas are.  It's a bit hard to describe, but we are built into a hillside, so the house is ground level at the front door, the courtyard...but in the back, we are about 7 stories high.  Beneath our feet are cantinas belonging to the woman who owns the studio and the agent that owns the apartment upstairs.  

Back to the leak.  Over the course of the last several months, it has been noted that this leak is getting worse and there seems to be a crack in the bricks of the building.  Seems there may be a broken pipe somewhere...but exactly where?  And whose pipe?

We contacted an engineer (the same one whom we employed when we had the balcony reinforced) and he asked if there were any damage inside.  We didn't know.  Well...there is.  The cantina that belongs to the agency...has a bad leak inside.  Cement is falling off and disintegrating.  Ancient bricks are getting damaged.  My husband saw this cantina last summer and there was no damage at that time.

It also turns out that OUR pipes (kitchen, bathroom) are running under the floor of this cantina, so it isn't our pipe.  It seems that it belongs to the woman who owns the studio where the old lady now lives.  And the timeline fits...she moved in about nine months ago.  

Seems simple to an American...BUT...since there are multiple owners here, we supposedly are ALL responsible for something like this.  At this point, I don't think anyone has contacted the owner of the studio.  I don't know if anyone has a way to contact the part-time people or if they would even care.  The agent is trying his best to deflect any and all responsibility.  None of this would be a big deal, except that it really is because........if the leak is causing structural damage to the foundation, the city could declare the building closed. As in...get out and find someplace else to go.  !!!!!!!!!  That is, we are told, the worst case scenario.  Well, hallelujah!  As the Beatles say in a song, "Can't get much worse!"  Second worst...we have to move temporarily until it is declared safe to come back.  Best case...fix the damned leak and repair the damage done and we all chip in.  

There are 2 engineers and 2 plumbers coming Saturday to evaluate the situation. Monday is my husband's birthday and our beloved dog is dying.  Perhaps I will have an addendum to this on Saturday. Did I mention I can't freaking stand the sight of the old lady next door?

Addendum:  Two engineers and two plumbers later and it seems we will not need to vacate the premises.  However, the leak is coming from a pipe that belongs to the owner of the studio next door.  It is causing considerable damage to the cantina that belongs to the realty agency.  The leak is somewhere inside a wall that has to be revealed and we still are not sure who initiates the repair, which really needs to be done quickly.  Haha.  

It's just another day...it's just another day.

 When I was less than a teen, I looked forward, like mad, to turning sixteen.  My sisters (twins) had had a spectacular sixteenth birthday celebration..not sure of the restaurant, but it might have been the Waldorf.  There were white tablecloths and candlelight...music and gorgeous dresses, high heels, gloves (!!)...gosh, it was nearly magical...I couldn't wait to turn sixteen.  I used to look through the newspapers and I remember seeing an ad by Lord and Taylor for a dress...it was a drawing...but it was so beautiful to my childish eyes.  THAT'S what I want to wear when I turn sixteen!!!

My actual sixteenth was spent alone. No party, no nothing. Much like my graduation from high school, met with a whole lot of nothing, while my sisters had fancy white dresses and bouquets of roses. 

My grandfather (maternal) was, according to me, a wonderful guy. I know my father didn't like him, because he even, stupidly and cruelly, really...an example of the WORST parenting...made a cutting comment to me when he was getting me out of the lake to dry off because "big mouth" had shown up.  I was five.  His comment stung and stuck, along with others.  

I loved Grandpa and have many fond memories with him.  I wish I had more.  I wish I had sought more and insisted upon more.  At any rate, he had the audacity to die on Christmas Eve.  I don't mention it, I don't make it topic of conversation because it is not relevant to anyone but myself and might be considered inappropriate or rude, but I remember it each year.  Oh, damn it, Grandpa...you had to go and die on Christmas Eve??!!!

My work life in the US healthcare system lasted forty-four years.   At one point, I became a "unit clerk" so I could work nights and weekends and be home with my child more in the daytime, during the week.  I did that until she was in school.  They were some of the most demanding years of my life. 

Not only because my child had autism, not only because my husband, going through law school and the first stages of bipolar disorder (unbeknownst to anyone), but because the job of a unit clerk is not an easy one.  They are, in fact, grossly underrated and underpaid.  They work shifts, they have tremendous responsibilities and they are perceived as "peons."  All that being beside the point, when I was training, I trained on various hospital floors and one was the children's ward.  It nearly broke me.

Michigan is not known for its glorious weather. One absolutely perfect and spectacular day in May, during my shift, which began at 4 in the afternoon, a family gathered at the bedside of a twelve year old girl.  She died before my "lunch" break.  The sun was still shining, the birds were singing, flowers were blooming and I walked through the halls of the hospital until I came to a spot by a courtyard and there was no one around.  I sat and cried.

It was then I realized that bad things happen every day.  Good things, probably, too.  I sat there, in the late afternoon sun, on a splendid day, and tried to understand how a young girl could die on such a spectacular spring afternoon.  We don't get to choose our birthdays...or the day that we die.  We don't get to choose when a serial killer will attack, or when a car accident will happen (every day, somewhere) or when  a virus strikes a population or a volcano erupts.  Bad things happen...on someone's birthday, on someone's anniversary, on a holiday.  We don't get to choose.  

What we do get to choose is to recognize that and pay homage, in our way.  We don't get to burden other people with our loss or our sorrow that they may not understand or share.  Not that they shouldn't know....at all.....I told my husband about my Grandpa, once.  I've never told anyone about the little girl in the hospital.

I could walk around carrying my weight of sorrow all the time....I remember when a certain person died, when a certain beloved pet died, when a past tragedy happened, old anniversaries and endings.  But, I cannot continue to live in constant, crippling pain.  I nod my head to it and I raise my head and move on.  The burden is heavy and gets heavier with passing time, but I cannot foist it on someone else.  It isn't theirs to bear.  They will know their own.

We can tick off the days in sorrow or choose to meet them with, I suppose a degree of courage...and stamina....rather than with debilitating grief.  

We don't "do" holidays much anymore.  We don't live in the US, so those don't make much of a blip here and with time we tend to forget, but they were losing their meaning for us anyway.  We don't make much of other "fake" holidays either...Valentine's, for instance....we acknowledge our birthdays and anniversary....and do a "Festivus" dinner every December.  And I remember Grandpa...silently.

Oh, yes, wait a minute Mr. Postman!

When you are an American living in a foreign country, you have to have a mail forwarding service.  Only because the US Post Office does not offer this service.  In other words, they forward mail within the United States but not overseas.  They could.  You could sign up and pay a monthly fee and extra fees for those things (packages) that go above and beyond....it would help the Post Office and it would help ex-pats.  But....no such service exists.

What you have to do, as an ex-pat, is find a mail forwarding service.  What fun.

I shopped around and was not happy with anything, quite frankly, but I had to choose so I settled on one that is "popular" and has been around a while.  There is a modest monthly fee of twenty dollars.  However, the cost racks up quickly as the mail arrives and departs.  You get an American address to use, for instance, with our American bank, which does not take foreign addresses.  So any and all mail from our bank goes to the "virtual" address.  The service is supposed to show you everything that arrives.  You then have the option to have it opened and scanned (for a fee), or sent (for a fee), or thrown away. If you recognize something from the envelope, you can skip the scan and just have it sent.  Let me tell you, international mail is expensive. 

Along the way, I have experienced problems, such as NOT seeing things in my "virtual mailbox" that get sent here..for a price...rather than thrown away. I have faced the choice of having something scanned or sent because both cost about the same.  It depends on whether or not an original is required.  I have waited seemingly forever for something to arrive.  When it is "tax time" waiting is not always an option, so then there are "express" fees.

Luckily, as time passes, the mail continues to dwindle down to a mere trickle, so the additional costs have lessened.  

Since we are still under restrictions here, and because we have far too many  housecats, and because Spring is hinting here and there that it will arrive, I decided to buy a pillow from Pier One.  

When I was in the U.S. I was a "member' and got points and discounts.  Sometimes it was just fun to poke around the store just to get ideas, inspiration.  There is no store like it anywhere near here, or one that I could reach.  Being quarantined and confined for a year now, I was itching for something fresh to look at that the cats could not destroy.  Pier One online was the way to go.

I found a pillow (on sale!) but they don't ship internationally. No worries.  I'll just have it sent to my "virtual mailbox" and it will be forwarded here.  It's a pillow.  How much could it cost?

Said pillow, in the package, weighs TWO pounds.  2.  Just two little pounds.

The email happily announced that the pillow was on its way for a whopping TWO HUNDRED and NINE DOLLARS!!!!   Do you know the feeling when you go up in an express elevator and your stomach seems to drop to your ankles?

The deed was done, the pillow was already winging its way here via Fed Ex.  I "chatted" online with a representative from the mail service.  "209!!????"  The answer was "Packages over four pounds are sent via Fed Ex International, here are the rates."  "The package weighs 2 pounds."  "Yes, but the DIMENSIONS of the box matter."  "WHAT?"  "The dimensions cause the package to take up more space on the airplane."  So now we have to be Fed Ex packaging and pricing experts?????  I'm so freaking livid.  

I asked my daughter if, in the future, I could send something to her and she could just mail it to me.  She told me the little package she sent at Christmas via the Post Office cost $165.00.  

There's no good side to this.  The most expensive pillow in the damned world is the last thing I will ever purchase from the U.S.  Lesson learned the hard way.

P.S.: Don't tell my husband and try not to laugh.

Addendum:  For those who love cats, I have another blog about our menagerie here that we have acquired since moving.  www.gattitudeblog.blogspot.com

One of those flights on gossamer wings...

 Ah, Italia!  I do love it here, there is so much to recommend it.  Gorgeous vistas, excellent food and wine, a mild climate, that sense of community, the lack of violence, particularly gun violence.  

Of course, there are downsides.  One of them is the infamous Italian bureaucracy. It doesn't matter how much you research, how much you prepare, or how much you read, there is always the unexpected.

I know that a certain piece of information is most definitely not anywhere included in the information on the Consulate website.  I am sure I did not come across it in any of the articles or blogs that I read.  With absolute certainty no one at the Questura advised us.  And, even when we dutifully showed up at the Municipale with our very first Permesso, and we were issued "cittadine" cards (residents of this town) not a soul told us we would have to show up each and every time we got a new Permesso.  After all, the cittadine cards are good for 10 years!  Chissa? Who knew?!

Besides, there was a little virus going around, and our second Permesso was delayed by nine months.  

A very official looking letter arrived yesterday.  It was in duplicate, hand signed and stamped with an official stamp.  It cited several ordinances, (you have violated regulation whatchemacallit , section such-and-such along with regulation blahdeeblah) which was a bit alarming.  

Turns out, as foreigners here (outside of the EU) we have to present the new permesso within sixty days of applying for it, or, if the actual card is not ready, the receipt from the post office proving the request was sent in. 

The new prime minister of Italy has appointed several people to the task of bringing Italy into the 21st Century with computer technology.  It's there already! But, the left hand doesn't talk to the right hand.  As in, why can't the Municipale just look up our new permessi via computer by accessing the Ministry of the Interior?  Or, conversely, why can't the Posta or the Questura notify the Municipale when someone applies?  It saves time, paper and potential problems. *like a pandemic

My husband reacted with his usual over the top anxiety, putting me on edge.  I emailed the official who sent the letter to say that we would take care of it immediately.

We trucked off this morning...a lovely, almost warm, sunny day with a clear, blue sky.  The Municipale is just up in the main piazza, housed in an ancient former monastery.  The cards were presented, copied and that was that.  Problem solved.  Another hoop to jump through that you just have to know about because NOBODY tells you. 

We were told to understand that this is a local level "thing"...it isn't like the Italian government is coming after us.  Tranquille.  Ok....so what would happen if we never showed the new Permesso?  Well, maybe nothing.  On the other hand, maybe you could be thrown out of the country.  Hard to say.  It's just....one of those things.